Nine Eleven

7 Deadly Sins

The High Alone from Broken and Reset: Selected Poems 1966-2006

In the deep covers
in the box canyon,
in the far corner
of the world of dawn,
I twist myself
into a knotty sweat, wrinkled
in egos, politics,
and names in their chains
on the burning ladders
of it-hurts-so-much-
for-so-little successes,
and then, bored
with the broken chorus of angels, dusty with torment,
singing the same six notes of sad,
my wiser self
whispered through that slumbering fret
“You can imagine
anything you want,
you know.” And I
instantly unbound,
safe in loose pajamas,
flannel robe and carpet slippers,
delicious
kitchen warmth
soothing the true
critter me I’d become
with the gorgeous idea of morning.
We both fell asleep,
my wise self and I,
and we have both
woken up in the same
nightshirt this morning.